Page 47 of Sense and Suitability
“It wasn’t just Father’s actions,” Simon muttered, his voice low. “When Mother...”
The words faltered. Saying them aloud made the truth raw, too visceral. Even now, the memory of his mother’s decline into grief and apathy choked him. She had faded into a shadow of the vibrant woman she had once been, retreating from life until nothing remained but absence.
Aunt Agatha’s eyes closed briefly, her own grief at the loss of her sister evident. When she looked at him again, the fire within her eyes still flared but less brightly. More in line with the woman who had been a presence and help since Mother’s death. “Precisely why the younger children must be protected. They need examples of fortitude, compassion, and strength.”
Everything within Simon surged to the defense. He was not his father, and he couldn’t have stopped his mother’s decline, no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried.
Yet his pride yielded to the weight of his responsibility. He had failed to save his mother, failed to shield Arianna from her own spiral. But he would not let that legacy touch the others. Even if it meant swallowing every barb and binding himself to a woman he did not love.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to Emme. He saw her as she had been, golden curls tumbling in disarray, her wide eyes searching his own for...
He exhaled sharply, as if the thought itself had teeth.
His heart squeezed... and then released. “I accept your terms.”
“Very well.” She studied him once again with those perceptive eyes and then extended an envelope to him.
With a careful look to her, he slowly opened it to reveal a note marked with a considerable sum.
“This will support your current endeavors and enable modest improvements to prepare Ravenscross for your new viscountess.”
Whoever she might be.
Aunt Agatha turned toward the door, her posture regal. “More will follow as I see how you manage the first installment.” She paused on the threshold, slipping off her gloves with brisk efficiency. “My room?”
Simon blinked at the note in his hand, then shook himself free of his thoughts. He followed her into the hall just as Mrs. Patterson appeared, descending the staircase.
“Mrs. Patterson, would you be so kind as to take Aunt Agatha to her room so that she may prepare for dinner?”
The woman’s genuine smile unfolded, and she curtsied to Aunt Agatha. “Always a pleasure, madam.”
Aunt Agatha had already taken two steps toward the stairs when she turned back, her expression softening—just slightly—with what could almost be called a smile. “And Simon, do hire at least one footman. It really won’t do for a viscount and his butler to haul baggage to his own doorstep.” Her shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “Though I must admit, the exercise may nurture humility. Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing after all.”
Simon stifled the glare threatening to escape and instead offered her a placid expression. A futile effort, it seemed, for a soundsuspiciously like a muffled chuckle followed her as she ascended the stairs.
Beneath Aunt Agatha’s steely exterior, he recognized a deeper purpose. She grieved, like all of them. She wanted to set things right—just as he did. Her manner may have been unyielding, but her support was steadfast.
Simon looked down at the note in his hand, wishing the money relieved the ache in his heart with as much ease as it did the hole in his purse.
Choose a bride?
His gaze trailed back up the staircase.
Emmeline waited somewhere within those rooms.
He would have made her his bride on that night so long ago.
But that was before.
He bowed his head, his chest heavy. Despite the fanciful notions spun in Emmeline’s beloved novels, reality often had little patience for dreams.
Dreams surrendered. Hearts mended.
Eventually.
Chapter 10
Emme gazed out the window of the bedroom where Mrs. Patterson had deposited her. It was a large room with warm-colored tapestries on the stone walls and a canopied bed at the center. Afternoon light radiated through beveled glass windows, casting fractured rainbows across the dark wood floor.
